Below, he would—following his allegory—have said; but rhyme forbade— and allegories are not so headstrong on the banks of the Brathay as on those of the Nile.
A sonnet on Thomson's grave is a fine specimen of empty sounds and solid nonsense:—
Whene'er I linger, Thomson, near thy tomb,
Where Thamis—
"Classic Cam" will be somewhat amazed to hear his learned brother called Thamis—
Where Thamis urges his majestic way,
And the Muse loves at twilight hour to stray,
I think how in thy theme ALL seasons BLOOM;—
What, all four?—autumn, nay, winter—blooming?
What heart so cold that of thy fame has heard,
And pauses not to gaze upon each scene.
We are inclined to be very indulgent to what is called a confusion of metaphors, when it arises from a rush of ideas—but when it is produced by an author's having no idea at all, we can hardly forgive him for equipping the Heart with eyes, ears, and legs:—he might just as well have said that on entering Twickenham church to visit the tomb, every Heart would take off its hat, and on going out again would put its hand in its pockets to fee the sexton.
And pauses not to gaze upon each scene
That was familiar to thy raptured view,
Those walks beloved by thee while I pursue,
Musing upon the years that intervene—
Why this line intervenes or what it means we do not see—it seems inserted just to make up the number—